How It Should Have Been
by lezlarr
Summary: What if Goku had never been sent to Earth and instead remained on Vegetasei? M for language, violence, adult content; you've been warned. NOT V/G pairing.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey guys. So, I told you I wanted to rewrite this fucking thing. Well, here I am. I promise, this is the same story it was going to be. I'm changing things according to the initial reviews and my own desires for where I wanted it to go. Hopefully, this will be better than it was. Please review so I know what your reactions are to this revamped version.**

**Dislcaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball/Z/GT.**

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**The End of the World As We Know It**

There was a flash, a blinding light, followed by an incoherent howl. Vegeta turned from his fight with Jeice to see Ginyu standing behind him, hand extended, smirk playing on his lips. The prince frowned; that was definitely a blast, but who was hit? The battles stilled.

"Well, Vegeta," Jeice said, making him turn abruptly. "Seems your men _are_ pretty loyal after all."

Confused, the prince looked down at his feet. On its face lay the body of one of his guards. Jeice was laughing. Someone close-by was crying. Vegeta spun on his heel and kicked the red fool in the face, sending him high into the air, then followed quickly. While still flustered, Vegeta began to pummel him with his fists; face, chest, neck, face. He could hear the shouts below of his angered fellows, enraged by the death of one of their finest. Blasts ensued. He grinned despite himself, blocked a hit Jeice sent his way, and with a feral snarl, sent his fist through the bastard's chest. Jeice gasped, spit blood onto Vegeta's pristine armor, and a beam of light erupted from his back. Vegeta dropped to the ground.

His people had realized the truth, finally, and the ones closest had taken the opportunity to battle as hard as they could against what was left of the Ginyu Force. Guldo lay in a puddle of his own blood. Recoome's head had been removed from his shoulders. Burter was nowhere to be seen. The captain himself was on his knees, bleeding and winded, before the enraged prince. Vegeta flicked his hand and blood splattered on the ground.

"You're going to regret this, you damn monkeys!" the captain shouted. Vegeta smirked and kneeled before him. Over his shoulder, Ginyu saw two large men and a young boy in fighting stances; low-class wretches that shouldn't have even been able to defeat him. "Frieza's going to kill you all whether we die or not. He's going to destroy your entire planet. He's going to destroy _everything_." Ginyu started to laugh.

"Let him come," the prince growled and Ginyu fell silent. "He is one and we are many. We will destroy him when he comes, and then _we_ will rule the known universe."

"Lord Frieza will not succumb to a bunch of inbred _monkeys_." Ginyu spit blood onto Vegeta's white boot. His eyes narrowed. "And I'll be laughing in Hell when you're all screaming for mercy."

Without a word, Vegeta's gloved hand spread over Ginyu's face and an explosion ripped through the air. When the dust cleared, the captain's head was gone. The prince stared at the body a moment longer, then turned to his comrades.

"Get the wounded into Regen tanks. Quickly." A few Saiyans scooped the injured soldiers up and darted inside the palace. Vegeta waved a hand, and the crowd began to disperse. Ignoring the commotion, he walked slowly towards his fallen guard.

A woman stood nearby, refusing to look at the body. A second woman was checking for vitals. The two monstrous low-class men and the young boy had approached and stared emotionlessly at the body at their feet. Vegeta frowned. "Well?" he asked. The woman shook her head.

"Nothing. He's dead."

He nodded slowly. Something like remorse pulled at his chest. "We could have used his help when Frieza arrives." The woman looked up, and something in her eyes looked scheme-y. Vegeta frowned. "What?"

"I think I have an idea." She smiled and brushed a few blue strands of hair behind her ear. "Have you ever heard of the Dragon Balls?"

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**A/N: Oh god that was SHORT. Anyways, please review. Questions, comments, suggestions. Also, I'm asking for a beta. That would be RAD. Thanks for reading. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: OMG WHAT IS THIS? AN UPDATE?**

**Wait a minute… weren't we on chapter 4? Why does it say chapter 2?**

**Go back and read chapter 1. You didn't get an update because I traded out the chapters. There are people on this story's alert system and I didn't want to get rid of that list. If this story no longer interests you, then I am terribly sorry. It needed fixing. In a bad way.**

**Memo about the languages at the end.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball/Z/GT.**

**Escape**

Eighty-three marks. Eighty-three little tick marks on the wall. Eighty-three days in this filth and death-trap. She could scream. She would have, were there not a shock collar around her neck. Like a fucking dog.

The men didn't like her because she was too dainty. She'd already had to go into the regeneration tanks almost thirty times. Now, she spent most of her time scowling at the back corner of her cell, thinking, thinking. That was all she could do now.

The girls told her it was a miracle she was still alive; most women as frail as her died in the first two weeks. She'd grimly replied, "I'm not the kind of girl that'll just lie down and die peacefully." They said she was a masochist. She said she was getting out.

Molla, a woman with splotchy purple skin, four breasts, and no nose, was currently watching her as she fought with a piece of plastic at her neck. They had something that vaguely resembled a mirror, so they could be pretty for the men, and the blue-headed girl was using it to see what she was doing. She was grumbling to herself in a language Molla didn't understand.

"_Chikusho!_" she hissed. "_Kusoyaru_, I'll get you off!"

"Are you alright?" Molla offered tentatively. The pale woman slumped, sighing heavily.

"Yes," she grumbled. "Stupid thing won't come off."

Molla nodded and raised what would have been an eyebrow, had she had hair. "It's not supposed to."

The woman leveled her with a glare, then turned her eyes on a huddled form in the corner. "Come here, I need your help." The form emitted an audible groan and then threw off the blankets to reveal a similarly pale and bi-pedal being. She crawled forward.

"What is it?"

"Get the plastic thing off, I need to get to the wires."

Sighing, the new woman started fighting with the collar. She didn't swear, only struggled in quiet determination until, with a satisfying _snap!_, the piece came off. The first one smiled triumphantly. "Excellent!" she exclaimed, turning towards the mirror and reaching into the device. The new woman returned to her corner and blanket. Molla watched silently.

Moments later, the woman's face lit up and she eagerly crawled over to her companion's corner. She dug into the blankets, much to the second woman's chagrin, and more noises were made. "Aha!" she cried eventually, sitting straight and holding something in her hands. "Finished!" Molla stared in horror.

"Shhh," she started. "Don't shout, you'll get hurt."

The woman smiled. "No I won't. I fixed it." The second woman rolled her eyes.

"You broke it."

"Regardless."

The second woman put the piece of plastic where it belonged on her friend's shock collar. Molla gazed curiously at her contraption. "What is it?" she asked.

"Our ticket out of here."

It would be a few hours more before one of the troops arrived and came to pay the collection a visit. It was a reward to visit the harem upon return if the mission was a success, and the men and women took it without hesitation. The women were rare, something about their psyche didn't quite sit well with dominating a weaker being sexually, but the men were frequent. They liked an unfair fight, it seemed. Perhaps because the females of their race were so difficult to control, it was a nice change of pace to control someone so easily.

The women learned early on that there were different classes; the third or lower caste was only allowed visitation upon a successful mission, and even then it was fairly brief. The second or semi-elite visited more or less when they had time off-duty or away from training; it was more frequent then the lower class, but not all that often. The third caste called themselves the Elites. They had free reign of the harem. Day or night, any time, unless a lower-caste troop had dibs; even then, an Elite could commandeer a woman if he so chose.

There was rumor of the so-called Super-Elites, or the Royal Family, but they were never seen. They had their own private whores to attend to their needs, and even then, thousands of women of their own race were willing to service them. What would they need the off-planet prisoners for?

The girls slept. They would need it tonight, when the men returned. Minds and bodies braced themselves for another beating, more broken bones, pain beyond imagine because these men were _brutes_. An injury and scream of pain served to intoxicate them; blood was their aphrodisiac. In this topic only was where caste failed to separate them: an Elite could be as cruel as a Low-class wretch. When bones could be broken with less than 20 pounds of pressure, it didn't matter their strength difference. They were monsters regardless.

Voices roused a few of them, and they woke the others. Molla was trying to contain her fear, but the silly meddlesome woman who had been messing with her collar seemed calm, determined. Her hand was clasping her friend's so tightly, their knuckles had turned white. Molla tried not to wonder what they were planning. She wanted nothing to do with it.

A half-dozen men with wild hair and filthy armor appeared, led by a miserable guard. The soldiers eyed the girls, nearly twenty in all, each from a different planet, save for the two girls holding hands. One man, with thighs as big around as their waists, pointed at them and grunted in his language. Keys rattled in the lock and others started squabbling over who got whom.

They did not speak Standard at home, for some reason. It seemed to be taboo, unless giving orders to a non-member of their race. Then it was degrading.

Ms. Meddlesome was lifted by her hair, and she dragged her friend with her.

"_Ehda, ehda!_" the men cried, save for the one that had picked them. "_**Seht **__szo vezmyu seh sai'tifit! Seht!_"

"Apart," he growled, batting at their hands. "He only gets one of you."

"No!" the blue one cried, clutching desperately for the other. "We're too weak. It has to be both of us, we break too easily. It would be a cheat to only get one."

The man seemed to consider this, then turned back to his men. "_Xho gyuda meyume. Doh sai'tifit ve myude._" The others groaned; the girls assumed it meant he would let them remain together.

Once ushered quickly out, their soldier grabbed them by their collars and led them down the hall, away from the den and closer to civilization. It was something they were familiar with. Voices grew louder and reverberated off the hard walls. Doors used a keypad to gain entry, using unfamiliar characters and differing lengths of code to get in, and opened on their own after a blue light flashed. Their soldier tossed them inside.

Each room was the same. Some idea of a bed, a sort of bedside table, and a doorway that led into a bathroom vicinity. It was crude, all angles and nothing welcoming, which enforced the idea that this was business.

The blue one turned to him and tried to appear meek. "May I clean myself first?" The man thought about it; though not the most hygienic race ever, some of them did have their limits. For example, their sense of smell was outstanding. Even if it was days old, they could smell the musk of another on the girls' skin, and it sometimes caused an outbreak of rage. He nodded once and motioned towards the smaller door, though he chose not to speak; perhaps his Standard wasn't that great.

There was a mirror, and she could have jumped for joy. Now. Now was her chance. Her narrow fingers dug into the plastic; the sharp angles broke her nails past the quick and drew blood. The smell caught the man's attention. With a hard _crack_ of freed plastic, the man appeared in the doorway, confused and angry.

Without a word of warning, she tossed the plastic between his legs. Though fast, if caught off guard, they could be slipped past. The piece of plastic slid on the ground and was picked up by the second woman. The soldier was mid-turn and unprepared for the electric shock he received at the base of his tail. With a cry, he collapsed to his knees; the second woman grabbed his shoulder for leverage and held the make-shift Taser tight. A few convulses later, and he was out cold.

The blue one smiled in triumph. Yes, eighty-three days of documenting weaknesses and flaws in their armor. Eighty-three days of tinkering with her shit collar. Eighty-three days.

"Run," she whispered, and bolted for the door. She door slid open and the girls raced out, hand-in-hand.

There wasn't really a plan. The blue one could mostly remember the route that had brought them from their tiny pod back to the harem, had retraced it in her mind nightly, but they weren't sure what they would do once they found themselves at the docking station. They were sure a pod would require an entry code, like the soldier's. They were sure the pod would be shot out of the sky.

They had to try. There was nothing left but to try.

"Hey!" someone said as they bumped into him. All they saw was a mess of black hair and a very bewildered gaze before their feet were carrying them onward. The call came again, sterner this time. "Hey! Where are you going?!"

They didn't know. They had to get out.

More voices were accompanying the man they had run into. There was a beep from a scouter and a garbled sentence in their harsh language. People were beginning to notice them. The man was close, they were aware, but maybe they could outrun him, maybe-

He appeared in front of them, scowling and angry. They screamed and tried to backpedal, but he was too fast. His hands lashed out and caught their hair, bringing them closer. Black eyes roved over their collars, noticed the broken one around the blue-headed girl's neck, and the lines deepened. Someone was shouting in his scouter.

"_Shi,_" he replied. "_De myuda andat. Shi._"

The room they were taken to was far, and the walk was humiliating. Every person they passed glared at them, a few even spit at their feet. She felt like she could die, like she was going to die. All that effort, and they had been caught so easily. She had underestimated their speed, and overestimated how easily distracted they could be. Now they were probably going to their execution.

It was a throne room, if the massive door, stretching ceiling, lines of guards and throne on the end was anything to go by. No one was waiting for them, but the guard still shoved them forward and left them to cower before the red chair. Only now was she aware of just how exposed she was, how little clothing remained on her emaciated frame. She would finally meet their patriarch, and little was left to the imagination. Perhaps it was a strange thing to be worried about, a king seeing your breasts when you were about to die. She hoped it wasn't so.

The guards snapped to attention at some unknown trigger. The girls glanced around, finding no change, only a dozen or so fists pressed over where their hearts might have been. She wasn't too sure of their internal anatomy.

"Kakarot," a voice called, deep and commanding. The guard that caught them stepped forward. "_Damyu det._" He shrugged in return, and the speaker stepped frowned. "_Dyu andat det tso._"

The guard grabbed their arms rather than their hair – thankfully – and led them to a small room behind the throne. The king stood with his back to them, staring out a window. The door shut silently.

He was a tall man, with lighter hair then any soldier they had seen thus far. His facial hair was well trimmed, his black uniform well fit to his broad shoulders. Though a king, it was obvious he was not to be trifled with, physically or otherwise. A red cape billowed behind him as he approached.

"I have brought you back here because you have caused shame," he said. His accent was barely noticeable, and she was impressed. He _sounded_ regal. "You attacked one of my men. A low-class weakling, but nonetheless, you escaped. I wish to know how."

She stayed silent. The muscles in his neck tensed.

"Tell me now and your death will be swift."

She swallowed. That was a pretty good offer. She wondered if she held out a little longer maybe she could convince him to spare their lives in return for the information. Doubtful, but what was there to lose?

"Earthling-"

"_Da'im_."

They turned. From a second door, previously unnoticed, a man had emerged. He was almost an exact replica of the king, but his hair was darker and he lacked a beard. He, too, wore a cape, and clutched something in his gloved hand. This must be the prince, she thought. The king approached him and they spoke in hushed voices for a minute, gesturing to the device and seeming to argue over its purpose or meaning. Eventually, the king grew flustered, snatched the thing out of his hands, and stormed over to the girls.

"Tell me what this is," he snapped. "Tell me what it does."

She sighed. They'd find out sooner or later, and it would be better to do it now before he hurt himself and grew angry. "It's a taser."

"And that is…."

"It emits a surge of electricity, enough to incapacitate an attacker. We used them back on Earth."

"How did you get an Earth device onto Vegetasei?"

"I made it."

"_Made_ it?"

It was the younger man, the prince with tall black hair, who had spoken; his accent was thicker than his father's. He looked incredulous. She nodded. His boots were silent as he strode forward.

"How did you acquire the materials necessary for its construction?"

Pursing her lips, she tapped her broken and bloody nail against her busted collar. Only now did the royals seem to notice it was torn open. They blinked at the gaping hole in their technology. The prince glared at her, an intimidating look that promised pain, as he advanced again.

"Who are you, Earth-woman?"

"My name is Bulma Briefs."

"I don't care what your name is, I asked who you were."

She frowned. "I don't-"

He exploded. "How does a whore possess the knowledge to create a weapon strong enough to incapacitate a soldier _from spare parts_?"

"I'm a scientist."

That gave them pause. When they spoke, it was in that strange language and hard to understand. The prince fell silent, arms crossed and two fingers tapping his bicep; Bulma noticed how young he was, maybe her age. His eyes glowed with intelligence, and that worried her; he had a plan. The king was speaking to him, but it was obvious the younger wasn't listening. She chanced a look at the guard, Kakarot, and his head was cocked to the side. Perhaps it was a strange plan.

"You are a scientist," the prince said, though he wasn't looking at her.

"Yes."

"Your companion is a scientist as well."

"Chichi? No, she's-"

"Kakaort, _ceu ghat._"

The guard seemed reluctant, but he stepped forward, extending a hand; Bulma noticed it glowing. The prince roared.

"_Ceugi shut ya, vaht! Syurme, yagi!_"

Kakarot bowed his head and looked apologetically at the girls. His hand moved instead to grab Chichi's arm. She didn't fight.

"Wait! What are you going to do?"

"Kill her," the king grunted.

"What? No! You can't do that!"

"Kakarot," the prince snapped, and the guard pulled her friend to the door.

"What do you want?"

"_Ehda_." Kakarot stopped moving, and the prince advanced. "Repeat that."

"What do you want?" Her voice was shaking; she didn't realize how much of a toll this was taking on her, but apparently he had. His pursed lips curled into a foul grin, and she feared for her safety.

"Tell me, _whore_, what are you willing to do to protect your friend?"

She didn't like where this was going. What did the prince want with her? Sure, she looked like a Saiyan, but he must have his own concubines at his disposal. Bulma didn't understand. He knew it, and was mocking her.

"Explain to me how you used your collar to make this…taser device."

Oh. That was simple. "The device is programmed to deliver a shock if the wearer makes too much noise. I pulled out the power source. It disabled it, but a few more wires and pieces of broken scouters allowed me reconnect the power supply. In fact, the wires I took didn't use a resistor, so when they touched, the voltage was much higher than before, enough to cause damage one of you. Not enough, though, so it required a weak spot and maintained contact. We had to catch him by surprise."

The prince was nodding, thinking again; the king looked horrified by how simple it had been for her.

"But it took you quite some time to achieve this," the king tried to justify. Bulma nodded and held up her hands, scratched and bloody.

"A lot of trial and effort. The hardest part was getting materials."

"How smart are you?" the prince piped up.

"I have a documented IQ of 147."

"I don't understand," he snapped. She tried not to cower or roll her eyes, both of which she wanted to do.

"It means I'm a certifiable genius."

The two royals shared a look, and the king backed down, shaking his head and motioning towards the girls. "_Shu gyudez seh falkaidevatut. __**Vuve **__shu gyudez seh falkaidevatufit._" The prince nodded his head respectfully.

"We have recently entered into a war with a neighboring planet. Our technology requires upgrading. We need security, weapons, armor, improved communications. Our supplier refuses to aid us, because they supply our enemy as well." Those black eyes landed on her with the weight of a million soldiers at stake. "You will do this for us, and in return, your life will be spared."

She didn't like it, having to help the people that had imprisoned her, raped her, beat her nearly to death. But it could buy her some more time, give her access to better materials. Thinking quickly, she asked, "What about Chichi?" He shrugged. "I need an assistant. Forgive me if I don't trust your men."

He smirked. "Fine. Keep your whore friend."

The king came forward. "You must pledge allegiance to us before we allow this. You will be held to your oath."

Bulma sighed and nodded. They had her say something she had difficulty pronouncing, but in the end, it didn't matter.

_I pledge my life to the House of Vegetasei. They are my Brothers, and I am their Sister. If I be a traitor, my life is forfeit. I will fight, protect, and guide. I am their Sister._

**A/n: OHMIGOD WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEY SAYING?**

**So, this semester, I took one of the best classes ever: Invented Languages. I made my own language. It's for a client and I am not allowed to say who (I don't think), but I do have creative rights to my language. I made it with Saiyans in mind, since the client's characters had an identical culture. Thus, I'm using it now.**

**I don't expect you to learn the damn thing. If you want, I will be putting a language key at the bottom of each chapter so you can find out what it is they're saying. It shouldn't be as frequent as it was in this chapter; I wanted you to feel surrounded by it and confused, like Bulma. **

**Any questions? Review or pm me, and I'll get back to you.**

**Btw, Bulma was swearing in Japanese.**

_Ehda, ehda!_ _**Seht **__szo vezmyu seh sai'tifit! Seht!_

Stop, stop! He will have **one**__slave! One!

_Xho gyuda meyume. Doh sai'tifit ve myude._

They are shoddy/poorly made. You have both slaves.

(note: Both statements are poor grammar. I did this intentionally.)

_Shi. De myuda andat. Shi._

Yes. I have them. Yes.

_Damyu det._

Speak to me or Explain.

_Dyu andat det tso._

Bring them to me.

_Da'im_.

Father.

Kakaort, _ceu ghat._

Kakarot, kill her.

_Ceugi shut ya, vaht! Syurme, yagi!_

Do not kill in here, damn! Leave, out!

_Shu gyudez seh falkaidevatut. __**Vuve **__shu gyudez seh falkaidevatufit._

It is a difficult path. It is **your** difficult path.

Note: 'kaideva' is a term for a path to power or victory. 'falkaidevatu' means a difficult path, one that is time consuming and will wear on your patience/sanity.

**Anyways, like I said, it won't be this frequent in the following chapters. Please review, tell me what you think. And sorry it took me so long!**


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